


what a heavenly way to die (what a time to be alive)

by JewFlexive



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Also I am SUPER Jewish and it shows in the writing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Dan is trying his best ok?, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Linda Martin Is A Saint, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer doesn't know what to do with this information, Maze sleeps with another one of Lucifer’s siblings, POV Multiple, Protective Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), SO, To be fair neither do I, Trixie Decker & Mazikeen Friendship, Trixie is going to fight God for making Lucifer cry, and then steal his chocolate cake, chloe & dan are bros, ella & lucifer are found family goals, no beta we die like uriel, please don't be antisemitic in the comments, thaaaaaaaaanks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewFlexive/pseuds/JewFlexive
Summary: "Why did you leave?" Chloe asks, but she already knows the many answers Lucifer could, but never will, give her. Lucifer left because he'd never been to Vegas. Lucifer left because he's impulsive and selfish and the bone-deep sense of exhaustion that he's always running from clings to him like cigarette smoke. Lucifer left because he did something terrible to save Chloe's life and everyone wants to thank him for it. Lucifer left because when he looks at her, his aquiline face softens and his eyes shine. Lucifer left because he was afraid.The question Chloe wishes she'd ask she never will. Because Lucifer is brash and cloying and nurses a delusional belief that he's a fallen angel who's escaped his throne in Hell. Because Lucifer slept with ninety-two people in only eight weeks and didn't care about any of them until they didn't care about him. Because Dan doesn't like him and Trixie likes him too much. Because Lucifer doesn't trust her, even now. Because hedoestrust her but doesn't trust himself. Because Chloe is afraid.But he hears it in her voice anyway, the question on the tip of her tongue, and it seems he won't answer that one either: "Why did you come back?"





	1. i get drunk but it’s not enough (‘cause the morning comes and you’re not my baby)

**Author's Note:**

> Premise of this AU: When Lucifer returns from Vegas, he returns without a wife. Amenadiel tries to be a better brother, Goddess loves manipulating Her sons almost as much as She actually loves them, Maze wants to make things right with her friend but isn't sure how, another angelic sibling moves to LA, and Chloe and Dan want to figure out who, exactly, Lucifer really is.

Lucifer hasn’t been this drunk since the night he ran from Hell.

(He and Maze had been giddy, buzzed on their newfound freedom even before Lucifer had charmed their way into the nightclub nearest his hastily buried wings. Lucifer’s back ached like, well, Hell, and his skin was slippery with blood, but the humans didn’t notice and Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care. Maze’s eyes were wide and gleaming as she coiled herself around him, cackling. Lucifer poured them shot after shot while they rutted against each other desperately, and Maze whispered heady things in his ear while he laughed wildly.

There hadn’t been sex back home, not really, not like that, and no booze either. But that night, Mazikeen and Lucifer developed insatiable, unhealthy appetites for both.)

Now that he’s in Vegas, far away from everything (everyone) that makes him vulnerable, Lucifer drinks without any qualms-- immortal devils don’t get hangovers, see, so he downs drink after drink until he’s floating, flying like he did all those millennia ago before his father’s rejection, before his mother’s silence, before his siblings’ betrayals. He feels woozy and whimsical, and his grins come easier when they’re followed by a swig from the bottle he’s pilfered from the rather weak willed bartender.

Women are flocking to him, all types, and Lucifer throws an arm around one who says her name is Sophia. Sophia is blonde and willowy, with big blue eyes and a wide pink mouth. She’s beautiful, objectively so, and Lucifer rather looks forward to fucking her against the restroom door. He circles her wrist with his finger and thumb and leads her to the room, locking the door behind them. She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck, whining most gloriously as he catches her bottom lip between his teeth, sucking. Lucifer growls, then, and turns them around so that Sophia’s back is pressed against the wooden door, her nipples pebbling against his bare chest. 

She is half-naked and tracing his ear with her rather nimble tongue and then Lucifer realizes what he’s doing. He tries to push through it, to ignore the fact that he is trying to replace an irreplaceable woman (a _ miracle _, some might say) with this girl. But apparently Dr. Linda is better at her job than she gives herself credit for, because Lucifer ends up leaving the restroom without Sophia on his arm, tears stinging his eyes as he storms out of the nightclub onto the busy street. 

He walks aimlessly for awhile before he starts to feel sober again, and with that Lucifer charms his way into another club, this one a little nicer, more like Lux. Here, Lucifer feels a tad bit more at home, which gives him the confidence to walk up to a tall, grinning Adonis and ask him to dance. The man, Jonathan, agrees, and soon Lucifer’s hands are full of the man’s impeccably formed ass and he is kissing him as if his immortal life depends on it. 

Lucifer pulls away and smirks lazily. Jonathan’s eyes roam over Lucifer’s face, and _ this _ is why Lucifer loves humans. No celestial being has ever looked at him with such awe, such unbridled satisfaction. It's a rich, dizzying, splendid feeling.

“What is it you _ truly _ desire?” Lucifer murmurs against Jonathan’s lips, lips that taste of tequila, slick-sweet sweat, and opportunity. He is unsurprised with Jonathan’s answer: _ you, of course. _

Jonathan, obviously, looks nothing like She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-For-Dad's-Sake, so Lucifer doesn’t stop himself this time, doesn’t bother giving credence to the tiny Dr. Linda that has taken up residence in his brain. Lucifer rides Jonathan until the beautiful man is a blubbering, begging mess beneath him, until the pretty distraction is driven mad with pleasure. He gives the man everything and more, and Lucifer laughs as Jonathan returns the favor, gasping into his mouth as he comes into the man's willing palm.

Lucifer has four orgasms that night-- this Jonathan fellow is quite good. He only thinks of Chloe twice.

(_You, _ Jonathan, said, like it was the easiest thing in the universe for a complete stranger to desire Lucifer above all else. Idly, as the sun rises, Lucifer wonders why people he loves never want _ him _ that badly. Lucifer wonders if that’s his father’s fault or if it’s his own. If He created Lucifer poisonous or if the unavoidable doom that inevitably catches up with those he loves is something Lucifer learned to deal out all on his own.

Maze still hasn’t called him back. Her silence hurts more now than it ever has.)

Jonathan leaves. Lucifer stares straight into the sun, willing himself not to do something stupid like cry. 

He takes another shot.


	2. i lost myself when i found you in the fall (i left it all)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussion of full body burns

When Amenadiel remembers Samael’s fall, he can only picture separate, brief bursts of images-- Mother’s vice-like grip on his shoulder, Azrael’s quiet sobs, Uriel’s calculated stare, Gabriel and Michael’s hands going to their swords, Father’s booming, furious voice-- the exact moment when the beautiful, bright white light in Samael’s eyes turned a bloody, putrid red.

Amenadiel knows that angels are supposed to forgive. But Amenadiel isn’t an angel anymore, Dad has made sure of that, and if he’s learned anything from Lucifer these past months, it’s that the Fallen can feel however they want. So Amenadiel lets the anger wash over him, lets the rage in his heart consume him. Amenadiel will never forgive Dad for making him be the one to kill Samael. 

(The sea of fire wouldn’t hurt Amenadiel while he guided Lucifer to Hell, Dad made sure of that, whispering assurances into Amenadiel’s ear as He pushed him through the Gates of Heaven. Michael had gotten rid of Samael too hastily, and unless Amenadiel caught up to his brother and brought him to Hell on his own, Earth could be destroyed by the impact. Amenadiel caught Samael and gripped him tightly as his little brother struggled to return to the Silver City, hailing down oaths and threats as his wings beat uselessly in the sizzling air. 

Father had been right-- the heat didn’t bother Amenadiel. It felt pleasant almost, to fall through the flames, like a warm bath or a mother’s embrace. But Samael was offered no such protection. Samael’s guttural screams of rage turned into screams of pure terror, his body writhing against Amenadiel’s as he became engulfed in flames. The sour scent of burning flesh filled Amenadiel’s nostrils as Samael’s skin bubbled and burst.

By the time they reached the ashy cityscape of Hell, Samael, handsome, clever, _ shining _ Samael, was dead, burned away. The Fallen who was once Amenadiel’s favorite brother was now Lucifer, a hate-filled, wretched creature with blood seeping from every pore of his ruined form. Samael was dead and Amenadiel had been the one to kill him.)

Amenadiel knows he blames Lucifer for a lot of things, but he has never blamed his little brother for Uriel’s death, not really-- he knows what it’s like to be forced to make that choice, to feel your own brother’s blood spill between spread fingers. He knows that Lucifer tries to do good and that it isn’t his fault that Dad has made it so hard for His rebellious son. He knows that when Lucifer ran from LA with strict instructions for Amenadiel to watch over Chloe, he was trying to do right by the detective.

But Lucifer isn’t here and he can’t see what a monumentally bad plan this was. Amenadiel has been watching Chloe for a week now and it has only worked to disprove Lucifer’s theory. Chloe loves Lucifer, loves him enough to wait on him before entering each crime scene, loves him enough to snap at Daniel whenever he makes a snide comment, loves him enough to call him everyday and beg him to tell her that he’s safe.

Maybe Dad put Chloe in Lucifer’s path for duplicitous reasons, but no one has told Chloe that.

Amenadiel is fixing himself a drink (and so what if it’s pink, it’s _ good _ , and Lucifer isn’t here to despair of Amenadiel’s “infantile drinking choices” anyhow) when his phone rings and his little brother’s contact pops up. In his haste to answer, Amenadiel spills vodka all over his coffee table but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Lucifer is reaching out, not when his little brother needs him.   
  
(Years ago, when the Earth hadn’t yet been created and the Silver City was new and glimmering, Samael had begged Amenadiel to be the one to teach him how to fly. Usually that was Raphael’s job-- God’s Healer had always been better with the younglings and Amenadiel was almost always in the throne room, anyhow. But Samael had begged him, and Samael never begged for anything. In the end, Amenadiel was almost embarrassed at how quickly he’d caved. But back then, he could never deny Samael anything.

He took Samael on his first flight. Apparently, Dad thought it only fitting that Amenadiel take his little brother on his last one, too.)

Amenadiel picks up on the second ring and pretends he doesn’t hear Lucifer’s sigh of relief. 

“Hey, Lucifer,” Amenadiel greets his brother in a hushed tone, more careful than he has been with him in years. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” Lucifer replies shortly, almost distractedly, before he zeroes in on the real reason he’s called. “How’s the detective?”

This is the place where Amenadiel should lie. It would be so easy to lie. It would be _ kind _ to lie. But making excuses and creating justifications for his own sins is what lost Amenadiel his wings and Amenadiel knows that if he lies, if he tells Lucifer that he has done the right thing, it will only make things worse for everybody-- including (especially) Lucifer. So Amenadiel doesn’t lie.

“Terrible,” he answers. “She’s doing terribly, Luci. When are you coming home?”

(Two more images from the Fall: the tiny, desperate, broken sound Samael made in the back of his throat when he realized that no one would stand with him. Lucifer’s shattered, desolate cry for Amenadiel: _ Amenadiel, tell Him I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t do anything like this again, please don’t leave me like this, brother please! _

Amenadiel doesn’t dream, but he doesn’t need to dream for those nightmares to haunt him.)

Lucifer says nothing for a long time, and it is only his harsh breathing that assures Amenadiel that his little brother hasn’t hung up.

“Brother,” Amenadiel whispers into the phone, pressing his cheek against the screen in a vain attempt to reach across the miles and miles of land and embrace his broken, beautiful little brother. “Come home. Come home, please. For me.”

On the other end of the line, Lucifer makes that same tiny, desperate, broken sound, the one that he made when he first discovered what it was like to be abandoned. Tears sting Amenadiel’s eyes but he swallows them down as he hears Lucifer’s own quick, anguished attempts to stifle his own sobs.

“Come home,” Amenadiel says again, screwing his eyes shut. “Come home, Luci, please.”

The devil really cries then, and Amenadiel cries with him.

(“If I fall,” Samael asked him worriedly, his voice shaking as they both looked down at the blue blue sky together. His bright wings twitched with concern. “Will you catch me?”

Amenadiel smiled and ruffled Samael’s dark hair before offering his little brother his open hand.

“I’ll always be there to catch you, little brother. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

Samael grinned toothily and they jumped together, whooping and cheering as they made pictures with the clouds.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this OOC Jew-Flexive who updates at a reasonable pace!!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!!


	3. i was made for loving you (you were made for loving me)

When Mazikeen dreams, she dreams of Lucifer dying.

Lucifer dies a different death every night. A week ago, he’d been buried alive. Two months ago, he’d been tortured to death by a group of delusional Satanists. Last night it had been a car wreck. Each death is gruesome in its own unique way and Maze probably has the last countless millennia to thank for the creative ways her subconscious has chosen to kill Lucifer-- she knows her way around a mortal body, around its weaknesses. Each dream is different in every respect except one.

In Maze’s dreams, Lucifer always dies alone.

It’s baffling to consider, if Maze doesn’t think about it too hard. Of course Lucifer won’t die, not permanently-- and he certainly wouldn’t die alone. Maze would burn cities to the ground and let blood stain all the oceans and rivers red before she _ ever _ let Lucifer die without his protector by his side. But of course, if Maze _ does _ think about it, he already has.

(Maze likes Earth well enough, but sometimes she wishes she was back home, if only to make sure that Malcolm never stopped screaming. She only hopes that whoever is running things down there is avenging their king half as well as she would.)

Lucifer died in that hanger without Maze. He died choking on his own blood, forced to barter with his thrice-damned father for Chloe’s safety because he didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Lucifer died without a hand or a shred of hope to hold onto. Lucifer died _ alone. _

It doesn’t matter that he’s come back. It doesn’t matter that he’s bounced back with his regular tenacity and passion and good humor. It doesn’t matter that Lucifer is alive and hale and healthy because he is all those things _ in spite _ of Maze, not because of her. 

She was supposed to protect him. Instead she’d sold his secrets and fucked his brother and somehow managed to blame him for the fallout when he demanded recompense for her disloyalty. 

(The first time that Maze and Amenadiel had sex, he’d looked at her like she’d hung the moon and that it was her, not Lucifer, who had crafted the stars, and she’d felt drunk on the feeling. Maze has never made good decisions while under the influence, and angelic influence was heady indeed.)

Maze might have felt abandoned and confused when Lucifer began hanging off his pet detective. Maze might have felt betrayed when he’d revealed himself to Linda without checking with her first. But those things don’t change the fact that it was Maze who had betrayed Lucifer first. 

It’s an idea so antithetical to what Maze was created to do that her stomach roils and her spine tingles just at the reminder.

(Lucifer doesn’t know it, but Maze hadn’t been created like the rest of her siblings. There’s a reason that she can stand to touch Lucifer’s wings without being burnt. Lucifer, of course, thinks it’s because of her raw power, but Maze knows otherwise. When God creates you personally, when He molds you purposefully with His own two hands with a specific goal in mind, you’re always going to be a little Divine.

Hell never dictated Maze’s role as Lucifer’s sworn sword, and neither had Lucifer. Her orders came from the big guy Himself.)

Maze was created to protect Lucifer, and it is not a job she despises. Lucifer is loyal and determined and witty and _ fun _ and there is no other being, celestial or otherwise, that Maze loves more. Back home, she’d reveled in being his right hand, found sweet satisfaction in being his favorite, was intensely proud to watch his back with sharp knives and sharper eyes. 

But now she’s punishing God’s punisher and letting him die alone and helping him kill himself to save a mortal woman and she still can’t figure out why.

(After she’d finished cutting off his wings, Maze had buried them under a palm tree. Lucifer had assured her it was only going to be a temporary hiding place, and the devil never lied, but Maze had been gripped with a paralyzing fear that he’d get rid of them, that Lucifer would throw them out to sea or burn them to ash or, worse, force her to dispose of them herself.

Maze had washed off her hands in the ocean while Lucifer got a hold of himself. She’d sobbed during the amputation, but as she cleaned out the blood from underneath her fingernails, she’d felt completely numb.

She never should have cut them off.)

Maze’s phone buzzes with another voicemail from Lucifer.

_ Hi, Maze, _ Lucifer’s voice, usually so smooth and slick and self-assured sounds tinny and desperate and ragged over the phone. _ It’s me again. Listen, I don’t know why you’re upset with me this time, but I… I really would like to speak with you. I’ll do anything if you… I’ll owe you a favor, okay? Just. Talk to me. Please. I need my frien--- I need you, right now. Alright? Alright. I.. I hope that all’s well with you and the detect-- and everyone. Call me back. Please. _

Maze leans back against her headboard and tries to ignore the way Lucifer begs. He’s never had to beg Maze for anything before, has never thought to. It should be enough, Maze muses. It should be enough for her to know that he wants to speak with her so badly.

But Maze would rather let Lucifer's mom torture her for eternity than call him back and admit that maybe she’s punishing _herself_ almost as much as she’s punishing _him_.

(“Who are you?” The Fallen asked Mazikeen after his sobbing finally ceased, his voice scratchy and harsh as she treated his wounds as best as she could. 

“I am Mazikeen,” she answered, pressing a quick, comforting kiss to his newly bandaged shoulder. The Fallen sighed a little, leaning into her touch, and she hummed in satisfaction. “I’m here to protect you.”

The Fallen smiled at her, a quick, tiny thing that disappeared in mere moments, and despite the blood and muck and ash, for a second Hell looked beautiful. 

“Hello, Mazikeen,” The Fallen’s voice was almost musical as he took her hand and squeezed it once, twice. “Call me Lucifer.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are suuuuuuper appreciated! 
> 
> Sending you guys all the love.
> 
> (PLOT STARTS NEXT CHAPTER GET PUMPED)


	4. next day nothing on my phone (but i can still smell you on my clothes)

“Hey, Decker,” Detective Bircher greets Chloe as she walks into the bullpen, nodding to her as he snaps a file closed with a relieved sigh. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good,” she shrugs, peering over his shoulder to sneak a look at the folder. “This just closed?”

“Yeah,” Bircher smiles, the skin around his blue eyes crinkling as he taps the spine of the file on his desk and stands, walking with her over to the coffee maker. “Didn’t think I would, but I borrowed your consultant last week for a moment and he blew the thing wide open. God, I love that guy!”

Chloe swallows and stubbornly focuses on the coffee machine. It’s one of those fancy Nespresso ones with too many buttons-- Lucifer had purchased it for the precinct as the old Keurig died a slow, painful death-- and even though he has given her five different lessons on how to use the machine, Chloe still hasn’t really gotten the hang of it. Bircher continues to talk, lauding Lucifer’s crime-solving abilities as Chloe finally manages to fill up her mug.

“Anyhow,” Bircher says good-naturedly. “My shift’s up– I just wanted to make sure that you knew I wasn’t trying to poach your partner.”

“You’re fine,” Chloe reassures him, patting her co-worker’s shoulder awkwardly as she turns to walk to her desk. “Lucifer… Lucifer will do what he wants. I’m glad that he was helpful.”

Bircher smiles again and wishes her a good morning as he goes to pack up. Bircher’s a good guy– he’s volunteered for the night shift the past three months since he’s the only detective without a kid. There was no reason for the sharp, angry feeling Chloe felt in her chest when he was talking about closing the case. None at all.

(Lucifer: And you say that_ I _live in denial. Really, Detective, hypocrisy isn’t a good color on you.)

When Chloe finally reaches her desk, a woman she doesn’t recognize is sitting beside it in one of the wheeled office chairs that Lucifer likes so much. The woman is beautiful in a way that renders Chloe speechless, awe-struck. The woman’s long auburn hair falls past her waist in loose curls that remind Chloe of sunset. Her eyes are the color of pine needles with flecks of vivid gold scattered in the irises, and for a moment, Chloe can smell forests and rainwater and sunshine. For a moment, despite everything, Chloe feels completely, totally, incandescently_ happy_. 

Chloe shakes herself and puts her mug down. She opens her mouth to speak, but the woman beats her to it.

“You are Detective Chloe Decker, correct?” The woman’s voice inexplicably makes Chloe think of a rose garden, light and delicate and sweet. She has a slight Israeli accent that makes her words sound like poetry. 

“Yes,” Chloe forces herself to focus, offering her hand for the woman to shake. 

“Perfect!” The woman exclaims, her eyes lighting up as she stands to shake Chloe’s hand enthusiastically. “I’m so glad that I’m in the right place. I’m Hanael, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” Chloe raises her eyebrows and sits down in her chair so that she is facing Hanael. “What can I help you with?”

Hanael bites her lip, worried, and throws a furtive glance behind her back. Her eyebrows furrow as if she is considering something, but finally, with a put-upon sigh, the woman squares her shoulders and looks Chloe in the eyes, determined.

“I need help finding my brother,” Hanael tells her. “Last I’d heard, he was in L.A., and I know that you're his partner, so I’d hoped you could enlighten me, you know, regarding his whereabouts.”

A sick, dreadful feeling coils in Chloe’s stomach as she processes Hanael’s request. It’s almost funny. Chloe has done so well this past week of ignoring everything Lucifer-related, suppressing any and all thoughts about her partner with stone-cold efficiency. 

(Lucifer: Come now, Detective! If the gates of Hell couldn’t hold me, what makes you think your human willpower ever could?)

Chloe swallows and plasters on a smile she hopes seems genuine, but she has no doubt that it looks as desperate and aching as she feels.

“I’m sorry, Hanael,” her tongue feels thick in her mouth. “I haven’t seen or heard from Lucifer in a week.”

(What Chloe _ has _ seen: Stark, snow white sheets covering up a beloved grand piano, her own tear stained face in the bathroom mirror as blood stained her shirt, the tiny, fragile smile that flitted across Lucifer’s face as she woke up in the hospital and gripped his warm, calloused hand, Maze’s stubborn sadness, alleviated only by Trixie’s less-than-subtle machinations, Amenadiel, stoic, serious, soft-spoken Amenadiel, following Chloe around like a man on a mission, like the most loyal of guard dogs.

What Chloe _ has _ heard: The eerie silence that ghosted over every inch of the penthouse as she ran through it, searching, Dan’s frustrated exclamations that have no target, the space between Ella’s quips as she waits for Lucifer to laugh, her own voicemails, played back again and again as she lies still in her bed feeling cold, the delicate disbelief in Lucifer’s voice as he asked her: _ this is real, isn’t it? _ as he seemed to beg her for absolution, as if she was the angel come to Earth and he the supplicant living in a world beyond his reckoning.)

Hanael suddenly stops looking at her with the placid, kind expression that has made Chloe feel so at ease. She stands abruptly at Chloe’s admission, glaring at her as if Chloe is the embodiment of evil, disgust rolling off the other woman in waves.

“Are you telling me,” Hanael begins, her voice like ice-coated steel as she narrows her eyes at Chloe, planting both of her well-manicured hands on the desk and leaning close so that their noses are mere inches apart. The joyful feeling that Chloe has been experiencing turns sour, and she feels like she is standing in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm, sharp grass whipping at her ankles as she waits for the heavens to strike her down. “That my brother, your _ partner _ , has been missing for a week, and you’re just _ sitting here _?”

Chloe is about to snap at the woman, this Hanael, because Lucifer isn’t missing, he’s left, and there’s a difference. Lucifer has left and he has left intentionally and silently and half of Chloe’s heart went with him and who is this sister of his (whose name he has never mentioned, who has never visited, not once) to act as if Chloe isn’t in pieces over it all. 

Chloe is _in pieces_ over it all. 

(Lucifer: Why, Detective, I never knew you cared.)

But then Amenadiel comes out of whatever shadowy corner he was lurking in and grabs Hanael by the arm, pulling her away from the desk. The two face each other, considering, and Chloe abruptly feels like she is watching a nature documentary-- there is no mistaking that these two are predators, moving with a sort of languid confidence that Chloe has only ever seen Lucifer possess. The room feels too small to contain them, too plain.

“Calm yourself, Hanael,” Amenadiel soothes, his arms up in a placating gesture as he nods to Chloe. “Don’t blame Chloe for Lucifer’s disappearance.”

“Should I blame you then, brother,” Hanael snarls, her eyes flashing. “Or was Azrael lying when she said that he’s died _ twice _ on your watch? Or has that been your plan all along– To finish your _ruination_ of our brother so completely that there’s none of him left?”

Amenadiel looks like he wants to respond, his mouth set in a grim line, but then he takes note of the audience that has formed around Chloe’s desk, but then he takes note of Chloe herself, who can feel herself shaking, and he just sighs.

“We should speak in private,” Amenadiel decides, turning back to address his sister. “Come.”

Hanael huffs in a way that reminds Chloe of Lucifer at his most petty, straightening her back as she concedes, motioning for Amenadiel to lead the way. They both leave the precinct without looking back at her, at any of them. Chloe has never felt more lost.

By lunchtime, Chloe has gone over the whole thing in her head ten times and is more confused than ever. The interaction between the two siblings was short and vague and the haziness has made Chloe hungry for more information. She makes a decision as she struggles to make her third cup of coffee that day. Lucifer’s left, and he’s thereby forfeited any professional courtesy that Chloe might have allowed him in regards to his background. She _ will _ figure this guy out. He’s been distracting her with his soft eyes and softer touches and somehow in all of their talk about _ moments _ Chloe has forgotten why, exactly, she let him become her partner in the first place– to keep him close long enough to discover just who, exactly, Lucifer Morningstar _ really _ is when all his lies have been uncovered, when the metaphors won't hide him anymore.

(Lucifer, sadder this time, though Chloe doesn't understand why: I’ve _ told _ you who I am, Detective. I’m the Devil. And I never, _ never _lie.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanael will be an important OC in this fic, but rest assured-- this is still a story about the characters we already know and love. 
> 
> If you want more information on the variety of theological versions of Hanael, check out this link: https://donnaphilosophica.com/hanael-archangel-of-venus/ 
> 
> As always, comments are my lifeblood. Enjoy!


	5. can you hear me screaming (please don’t leave me)

Lucifer’s ears are still ringing with Amenadiel’s warning as he starts the Corvette numbly, almost blindly. His mouth feels dry, and his knuckles are white as he grips the stick shift as if it will keep him grounded, as if his car is the only thing that stands between Lucifer and a frenzied tailspin. Lucifer isn’t sure what he’d expected when Amenadiel had called him this morning, his brother’s voice tight and bewildered and quiet, but it hadn’t been _ this_.

(_Luci, _ Amenadiel had sounded like he was talking to an abused, feral dog cowering in a corner and ready to strike, and while Lucifer had felt like he _ should have _ been offended by the delicate way his brother was treating him, in the moment, he hadn’t been able to help feeling relieved. He’d never admit it, but right then he’d rather Amenadiel be careful with him. 

Lucifer still felt like he was made of glass, with hairline fractures spider-webbed throughout his body, and he knew that the slightest movement could make him shatter, and he doesn’t want anyone else to bleed because of him. _ Hanael is in Los Angeles. She’s looking for you. I’ve managed to keep her away for now, but… _

He hadn’t said anything in response to Amenadiel’s news. He’d hung up right then and made arrangements to return to Los Angeles. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but he was not going to give anyone, least of all his sister, an opening to hurt the detective and her family. Mum’s life factored in, too, for a moment at least, but then She texted him a thinly-veiled manipulation _ again _, and Lucifer spitefully decided that Hanael could have Her.)

The top of the Corvette is down, and Lucifer tries to embrace the feeling of the wind in his hair and the sunlight tickling his cheekbones and painting pictures on his hands. Lucifer loves his convertible, and there has never been a problem in the past six years that a long drive in the afternoon couldn’t solve for him. Even the drive to Vegas, which remains one of the hardest things Lucifer has had to do for reasons he refuses to contemplate, had afforded Lucifer a sense of calm that he had been missing for what felt like months. But somehow, the drive isn’t making Lucifer feel anything but overwhelmed and lost and scared out of his wits. 

He bought the Corvette because driving it made him feel like he was flying. Now, Lucifer just feels like he’s falling all over again.

Lucifer knows it isn’t Amenadiel’s fault, that if his older brother had kept Hanael’s incursion into their lives a secret there would have been Hell (ha!) to pay. But the call was so unwelcome, so hateful, so mind-blowingly _ terrifying _ that Lucifer wants to forbid Amenadiel from ever presuming to call Lucifer again. 

(A small, traitorous voice in the back of Lucifer’s mind, the one that still calls itself Samael after all these years and the angel’s untimely demise, reminds Lucifer of the phone call from his third night in Vegas, when Lucifer’s desperate, ill-timed phone call with his older brother had felt like the closest thing to salvation. Lucifer’s brother has served as his jailer and a killer and an unlikely but necessary ally, but for the first time in eons, Amenadiel had been hope personified. Lucifer hadn’t cried in front of someone who wasn’t Maze since… well since _Maze_, but for once he let himself go, let everything go, and Amenadiel had let him. He’d let him and he’d comforted him and he’d loved him and damn it, Lucifer just wanted someone to _love _him.) 

Lucifer doesn’t expect love from Hanael, not now. His sister is beauty and peace personified, and he’d tried to start a war. If she finds him, it won’t matter that she used to braid roses into his hair and teach him songs and tell him stories while Mum was off doing who knows what. It won’t matter that she was the only one of his siblings to adore Azrael as much, if not more, than him. It won’t matter that she used to sneak out with him to look at the stars whenever he and Michael fought and called him _ little brother _ with a wide sunshine smile and kissed his eyelids as he fell asleep.

“I hate you,” he informs the wind whistling past his ears. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

He’s screaming now, his voice carrying across the desert.

“It wasn’t enough to let Michael throw me out!” Tears stream down his face but it’s only the wind, it’s only the wind. “It wasn’t enough to force Amenadiel to-- to do what he did to me! It wasn’t enough to make me Mum’s jailer, or make me kill Uriel, or to try and manipulate me with the detective! No,” he gasps for breath, his chest heaving. Lucifer glares into the sun and dares his father to do something, dares Him to show off His _ almighty power _ and strike him down. “You had to send _ her _ after me, too. Why her, Dad? Why Hana?”

He’s dry-heaving, and for a brief, terrifying, exhilarating moment, Lucifer wants to die, but the moment passes as quickly as it came.

“I’m not going back to Hell, Dad,” Lucifer tells the wind. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t reply.

Grumbling, Lucifer looks back towards the road.

_ Hell_, he needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are my lifeblood! Enjoy!


	6. you taught me well no life is safe (no soul is clean)

“You called him, then?” Hanael asks Amenadiel when he returns to her, taking a sip from her coffee before delicately wrinkling her nose in distaste. But then, his sister is almost as fussy as Lucifer, albeit for different reasons, and Amenadiel has had millennia to be quietly amused at how alike his two siblings look when faced with something innocuous that somehow manages to personally offend them to a ridiculous degree. With Lucifer, it’s cosmos, clip-on ties, and anything made from polyester. With Hanael, it’s any fragrance from Bath & Body Works, airplanes, and Starbucks lattes. Seeing his siblings' shared mannerisms makes Amenadiel ache as much as it brings him joy, though, so he forces himself to focus. 

“He’s on his way back from his trip,” Amenadiel affirms, careful not to mention where _exactly_ Lucifer had been, looking down at his phone again to send a quick SOS text to Maze. Amenadiel isn’t sure where Maze and Lucifer stand this week, but regardless of whether or not the demon is interested in running interference with him on Lucifer’s behalf, Amenadiel thinks she has the right to be aware of another celestial presence in the city. “But that doesn’t mean you get to see him.”

Hanael immediately stops fussing over her coffee to level a murderous glare Amenadiel’s way, her green eyes glinting dangerously. 

“I think it’s a little too late to pretend you're our brother’s keeper, Amenadiel,” she spits at him, and for a split second, Amenadiel feels that same fear he did when he faced Uriel-- feels all too aware of the empty space behind his shoulder blades, of his abject powerlessness in the face of the celestial. If Hanael wanted to, she could snap Amenadiel like a twig, for all that she could never hope to match his skills in combat when he was an angel. But he dismisses the fear as ludicrous-- attacking Amenadiel would go against Hanael’s very nature, and she is too good and obedient to risk her place in the Silver City by killing him. “After all you did to him---”

“I will not have this argument with you again, Hana,” Amenadiel groans, closing his eyes reflexively as if that will keep the image of the charred, bloody body of his little brother from swallowing him whole. He swallows, willing himself calm and breathing deeply once, twice, before opening them again to face Hanael’s scowl head on. “We both know that had _ you _ been the one Commanded to-- to bring him to Hell, you would have done it in a heartbeat because that’s what angels do. Angels _ obey_, and they obey blindly. I refuse to continue serving as a scapegoat for whatever sins you seek to absolve yourself of, Hanael, I don’t have the time.”

Hanael is quiet for a long moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares him down, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” Amenadiel snaps irritably. At this point in the argument, Hanael would usually be hissing scathing insults at him. There's an order: Hanael says something inflammatory, Amenadiel protests, she verbally eviscerates him. Rinse and repeat until Raphael intervenes. But she just looks pensive, not angry, and it’s throwing him off.

“‘Angels obey,’” she parrots him, eyeing him curiously. “‘And they obey blindly.’ You said _ they_, Amenadiel. What, you don’t consider yourself an angel anymore?”

(_I was an angel once _ , Amenadiel wants to say. _ I was an angel once. I was God’s Firstborn, His Outstretched Arm, The Warrior of the Silver City. It was I who whispered in Sarah’s ear, it was I who warned Avimelech, it was I who held Hagar as she sobbed, it was I who held Leah’s hand when her husband would not, it was I who brought blood to the Nile, it was I who walked beside Aharon and guarded Miriam, it was I who laughed and learned with that boy from Nazareth, a man who was no godling and only stronger for it. _

_ It was I who watched helplessly as the children of Sodom and Gomorrah burned, it was I who was Commanded to remain silent as Avraham tied his son to an altar, it was I who knelt in mourning as babies were drowned because the slaves were still waiting for the right one to be born, it was I who ignored Bat-shevah’s pleas and Tamar’s cries, it was I who watched Temples fall and crosses rise and women and children die on that mountain in the desert, it was I who did nothing, it was I who stood by, it was I who kept my mouth shut as the Earth became soaked with blood and tragedy. _

_ I was an angel once. Thank God I am an angel no longer._)

“No,” Amenadiel says. “I don't.”

Hanael’s emerald eyes study Amenadiel intently, as if she is looking for something, but after a long moment, she sighs sadly and looks down at her hands. When she speaks again, her voice is smaller, softer, kinder. She sounds like she did all those eons ago when the Silver City was all there was and God’s Love (their love) had yet to be tested.

“I’m not expecting to be welcomed with open arms, Amenadiel,” Hanael tells him. “I haven’t been much of a sister to him, and after what he did to Uriel--”

“_Uriel _ gave Lucifer no choice,” Amenadiel interrupts her. “He almost killed a human, Hanael, and was going to wipe Mom from existence. Lucifer was on the defense--”  
  
“Have a modicum faith in me, will you? ” Hanael cuts him off firmly. “I don’t blame Lucifer for what happened, Amenadiel. I _ told _ Uriel he was being an idiot, going after Lucifer without getting a mandate, and with Rae’s blade, too. It was insanity, but he wouldn’t _ listen _ to me, just kept going on and on about protecting Dad from what needed to be done. As if Dad has _ ever _ needed protecting.”

Amenadiel smirks wryly at the notion.

“I just want to see him,” she entreats earnestly, reaching across the table to take Amenadiel’s hand in hers. It’s a sisterly gesture, one that Amenadiel has not been afforded since he flew back up to the Silver City with Samael’s blood staining his hands red red red. 

(Michael and Gabriel had congratulated him for a task well done, Remiel and Uriel had smirked and offered to help clean off the blood, Raphael and Azrael had turned away from him with wide, wet eyes, but Hanael, beautiful, compassionate, vibrant Hanael, had _ screamed_, sorrow and heartbreak and pure, unadulterated fury drenching the sound so completely that the walls of the Silver City shook. She’d cursed his name and called him a monster and swore that she would never forgive him, that he was the worst of criminals. _ Kinslayer_, she had called him. _ Monster, Murderer, Coward, Worm. _

From then on, Hanael used his full name to address him, when she deigned to speak to him at all, dispensing with the nicknames and endearments that flowed like wine from her lips for everyone and everything else, only calling him _ brother _ when she was in the mood to twist the knife a little more and remind Amenadiel just how utterly he’d failed in being one.)

“That’s up to him,” Amenadiel says gently, squeezing her hand, because this is a lesson he is still learning. He has been lucky-- Lucifer has not brought up what Amenadiel did to Samael, seemingly all too happy to ignore it and move forward, but Amenadiel is not an idiot. He knows that Lucifer's fear lingers, that his trauma is a burden that Amenadiel will never be able to shoulder for him, for all that he wishes he could. Amenadiel still struggles with the ideas of choice and free will, still has to stop himself from working behind the scenes in Lucifer’s life. Lucifer seems to sense that Amenadiel is trying to be better, and he is kind enough (lonely enough, Amenadiel fears) to forgive his older brother his missteps. But Lucifer deserves one sibling who will be able to navigate his boundaries respectfully, and Hanael has always been calmer and more considerate than Amenadiel anyhow. “I’ve told him that you’re here and that you’re worried for him, but you have to wait for him to come to you, okay?”

Hanael presses her lips together and gazes out the window. Amenadiel wonders what she sees when she looks at humans. She’s always liked them, more than most of their siblings, her passion for Earth nearly rivaling Lucifer’s. Amenadiel hopes that Lucifer will see her, that he will allow himself to hope. They are so much alike, Hanael and Lucifer-- creatures of music and light and beauty and love. 

“Okay,” Hanael agrees, turning back to the table and taking another sip from her latte, smiling tentatively at Amenadiel as he squeezes her hand again. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for being MIA on this fic! I'm going to try to update more frequently. Thank you so much for your patience-- I hope you and everyone you love are all safe and healthy.
> 
> (As always, comments make my world go 'round! I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. What do you guys think of Hanael?)


	7. for all of the sparks that i stomped out (for all of the perfect things that i doubt)

Trixie is in the middle of telling Maze a story about how she made Alix cry in class today after the girl had said that a new student from Colombia should _ go back to where he came from_. It’s a really cool story-- cool enough that it got Trixie escorted to the principal's office and sent home with a note to be signed by _ a parent and/or guardian _ to ensure that Trixie _ treats her fellow classmates with respect and kindness_. 

Frankly, Maze thinks that Alix is the one who needs a serious attitude adjustment (humans always get caught up on the strangest things, and if this little white girl keeps up with this sort of bullshit, well, there are places a heck of a lot hotter than Central America), but she’d signed the slip of paper anyways (what, it didn’t say _ legal _ guardian) and had vowed not to breathe a word of any of it to Decker if Trixie gave Maze the play-by-play. 

Trixie _ is _ giving her the play-by-play and it is a really fucking _ awesome _ play-by-play because Trixie is a vicious little hellion when she wants to be and her vocabulary has developed considerably under Lucifer’s tutelage (Maze wouldn’t be surprised if Trixie had reverted to a British accent for some of the insults she used), but Maze’s mind keeps wandering, and she finds herself unable to focus on anything she’s saying, too distracted by Amenadiel’s text. 

There’s another celestial in Los Angeles. There’s another fucking _ celestial _ in Los Angeles-- and not just any celestial. Hanael, the Grace of God, the Angel of Joy, the Rose of the Silver City, Lucifer’s eldest and most beautiful sister, is waltzing around the city, harassing Decker and sticking her nose up at Starbucks lattes and looking for Lucifer. Maze honestly doesn’t care too much about the first two-- let Her Highness make a nuisance of herself, _ she’s _ not the one with Azrael’s Blade. 

But then again, using the Blade on _ Uriel_ broke Lucifer to the point where he’d tried to get himself killed and revealed his true form to Linda in a truly inspired form of self-sabotage. Maze really doesn’t want to think about what he’d do to himself if he was forced to use it on Hanael, really doesn’t want to think about what lines she would cross to wreak bloody havoc if he was forced to make that choice again.

(It took a few centuries, but eventually Lucifer stopped waiting for his brothers to come see him, stopped lighting up like a goddamn city anytime he thought he heard a flap of wings or a wisp of a tune, stopped calling out for them in his fever-addled dreams. After a few centuries, Lucifer’s form had healed enough from the burns so that his angelic glamour no longer wavered, and with that he seemed to sever all connection he had to his brothers. 

But it was millennia before Lucifer stopped searching for his sisters-- millennia before that hopeless longing in his eyes turned to resigned fury, millennia before he stopped telling Maze stories of fierce Remiel, clever Lailah, mischievous Azrael, fiery Ariel, and, of course, warm, loving, _ kind _ Hanael. He’d gleefully recount stories of his and Azrael’s escapades, his and Remiel’s sparring sessions, the good-natured debates between him, Lailah, and Ariel that would shake the walls of the Silver City with their passion. It was awful, watching him reminisce, watching him try to convince himself that these memories were as important to his sisters as they were to him, watching his eyes go soft and expectant every time he caught glimpses of Azrael’s dark wings. 

It took four thousand years, but eventually Lucifer lost all hope. He stopped flinching anytime a particularly religious soul called upon Remiel’s strength or Ariel’s righteousness to protect them. He stopped trying to catch Azrael’s eye. He stopped staring into the dark abyss of Hell hoping that he’d find Lailah in the primordial darkness. The only indication that he even remembered his sisters at all were the sad, desperate moments where he’d wrap himself around Maze like a limpet and mumble Hanael’s lullabies into her neck as they retired to his room, his voice wet and shaky as he tried not to cry.

Maze can no longer bring herself to hate Amenadiel for his crimes against Lucifer when he so obviously hates himself enough for the both of them, but Maze knows that she could never show Hanael such mercy, could never forgive her for the way Lucifer trembled in her arms, desperate and aching and so, so afraid.)

“You’re not listening,” Trixie accuses loudly, heaving herself onto the couch next to Maze and poking her in the arm insistently. “You said you wanted to hear what happened with Alix but you’re not even listening.”

“Yeah, I know,” Maze sighs as she slings an arm around Trixie, huffing out a laugh as the little brat tries to wiggle into a more comfortable position next to Maze without having to let go of the demon’s arm. Maze holds on tighter, not bothering to conceal her grin as Trixie finally settles and rests her head on Maze’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Trix. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you and Lucifer still fighting?” Trixie asks her, but before Maze can get a word in edgewise to answer her, Trixie continues, her exasperation evident in her tone. “I don’t understand why you guys are like this. You’re best friends and you love each other. I fight with my friends sometimes too, but we always know _ why _ we’re angry. You guys are just fighting to fight and not for any real, actual reason and that’s so_ stupid _ and making you both really sad. He’s called you fifteen times this week and left, like, eleven messages, and we both know he’s going to call you again, so how about this time you pick up the phone so you can stop moping and listen to my stories!”

Maze takes a few seconds to process, resting her chin on the top of Trixie’s head. As she opens her mouth to reply, her phone starts ringing. She grabs it and laughs a little when she sees who's calling.

“Speak of the devil, huh?” Maze teases as she shows Trixie the caller ID. Her friend grins back in response. Maze takes one long, fortifying breath. Trixie’s right. She and Lucifer are friends. She and Lucifer love each other. She and Lucifer need to stop fighting, or at least decide on what it is they’re fighting about. It's time they've solved this. She slides to accept the call.

“Hey, Lucifer,” Maze says, and she hopes that the phone conceals the way that her voice shakes. 

There’s a pause on the other end, and Maze has to close her eyes.

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer breathes, and she can hear the smile in his voice, the hopeful tremor that colors each syllable of her name. Lucifer has always made her name (a name of fire and ash, a name of blood and vengeance and terror) sound beautiful, holy, even, and fuck, she’s really, _really_ missed him. “You answered.”

“You called,” Maze replies, casting her eyes down at Trixie, bright-eyed, wonderful, clever Trixie, who befriends demons and defends devils and has more compassion in her little finger than most humans have in their whole bodies, who loves all things of horror and wild whether they deserve it or not. A small smile plays at the corner of Maze’s lips. She thinks that Trixie could teach Hanael a thing or two. “Sorry it took me so long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS SEASON 5A IS OUT TOMORROW WOOOOOOOO
> 
> Let me know what you guys think of this chapter! I'm not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to have it up before the premiere. Hopefully I'll have another chapter up by September, but I think we all know by now that my writing schedule is haphazard at best so!
> 
> As always, please please please leave a comment! I've been feeling a little unmotivated recently and could use the boost <3 <3


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